
The front door. Picture by Mark Slick.
It’s been about two years since I signed on with the Salt Cellar on Cathedral Hill in Saint Paul — my first gig as executive chef. It feels like a lot longer; I guess time has a way of slipping past you.

Opening crew of The Salt Cellar. Photo by Mark Slick.
This restaurant was my firstborn (the first place I ever opened as head chef), and yet it was never really entirely my own. I punished myself getting it off the ground. My life, health, and relationships all suffered. Mentally and physically, I put everything I had into it.
The original concept of the restaurant (retro steakhouse) was a little awkward, a little stilted — particularly the table-side service, which many restaurant critics immediately decried as old-hat.
Honestly, the concept wasn’t my cup of tea, either. I tried to tweak it. Little by little, I dialed back some of the older-fashioned things and tried to replace or revise them with my more progressive style of cooking.

Rainbow trout with pumpkinseed crust, one of my favorite recipes.
Still, in the end, it always kind of felt like a strange bastard child, and it attracted an odd blend of clientele — some of whom got what I was doing, and some of whom didn’t. But like a parent, I was attached, and all I could do was love it for what it was.

One things that wasn’t limited by the concept was my charcuterie. All in house, all the time, I changed it whenever I pleased.
On the one hand, we would have people come in expecting a traditional, old-style steakhouse, asking if they could get their tenderloin “more well done.”

One of my original concept photos I shot for the restaurant.
On the other side of the spectrum were enthusiastic, adventuresome patrons who would make journeys from far and wide just to come and see me, expecting a menu filled with interesting local oddities. Trying to make both types of people happy was a fool’s errand.
Still, I tried to make the place my own. I tried to new breathe life into it and make it interesting. I’ve learned there’s only so much you can do with a dream and vision that are someone else’s, though, and the old adage about trying to be everything to everyone is really true.

Duo of cured and smoked salmon. Valentines tasting menu, 2016.
Over the last few months, I’d been trying to transform the restaurant from the inside out, striving to subtly re-brand it, doing away with the limiting steak-and-seafood concept, and gradually evolving toward a casual, neighborhood bistro more in line with my own culinary values.

Canapes. Venison, smoked salmon, goat cheese mousse, candied fig and blue, pheasant rillettes with rowanberry, garlic sausage with sauerkraut and mustard.
Week by week, a lot of the typical, big-ticket items — including conventional à la carte steaks (like tenderloin) — were to be phased out, replaced by composed dishes featuring interesting cuts, like bavette or shoulder steaks. We started offering a weekly, prix fixe tasting menu designed around local ingredients of the moment. Table-side service was soon to be mercifully retired, too.

We sold plenty of surf and turf.
It could have worked. Time was my enemy, though, and before I knew it, the distressing news came: We were told the restaurant was shutting down to be remodeled and re-concepted into something along the lines of a gastro-pub or sports bar-a concept that holds no interest for me.
There isn’t a much worse feeling than telling your staff they’ll all be laid off in two days. Closing a restaurant is now something I’ve done twice (the previous one being Il Vesco Vino back in 2009), and for a chef, the days before a closing are, for lack of any better words, fucking horrible.

From a cocktail shoot I did in the bar.
Morale is low, to say the least, and yet, you have to pull everyone together to perform for a little while longer — even though you all know you’re looking into the eyes of the beast.
It’s a bit like having a sick animal that you know is on its last legs, but that you care for deeply. In the end, love can be taking it out back, pulling back the hammer and putting it down.
Despite the tears and painful goodbyes, a part of me feels that the universe was probably being merciful. As hard as it was to see perfectly good inventory being hemorrhaged out into the trash, or to see regular customers walk up to locked doors, I find I’m now breathing a sigh of relief.
How long might I have stayed there otherwise, trying to bring this bastard child up as my own? How much energy would I have spent? How much of my creative instinct might have gone dormant?

Some people seemed to think plate smashing was a fitting end to the evening.
If nothing else, I’m both stubborn and dedicated, and I know I would n0t have given up easily. Two more years under the banner of “steak and seafood” might have hurt my career more than it helped, even if things had turned around.
In the end, I’m glad it’s over, and I’m even more glad I saw it through. Mostly, I’m proud of the team I taught, and of the food we made.
Even when we were under pressure to keep costs down, I went to the farmers market myself every Saturday morning so that we could still serve our clients great local produce. Even when times were tough, we served some of the best food in the Twin Cities, and we refused to compromise our ethics. No one can ever take that away from us.
To my team who sacrificed, and who put up with so much friction, sacrifice and difficulty to keep working with me: Thank you. You mean the world to me, and I won’t forget it.

Closing team.
From the way you write and the recipes of yours that I’ve tried, I’m confident you’ll come up with a productive and satisfying next step. I hope that happens for you soon.
Thanks Ellen.
Nicely written, Alan. I know there are bigger and better opportunities just waiting for a creative chef such as yourself. You are a winner and will land squarely on both feet doing something you love and makes you happy. I can’t wait to see what is next in store for you. Godspeed.
Thank Mary, congrats on getting that nice Hypholoma pic recognized too.
Sure wish you could come to Oregon. We would love you out here. There is a lot of interest in foraged plants and wild mushrooms as well as lots of commercial organics.
Unfortunately the powers that be will be keeping me in MN.
YOU are a TRUE CHEF and need to have YOUR OWN RESTO! Have been there also and opened my own years ago catering to Cowboys out here in the Seattle area, wildly successful!
You are incredible for what you have built! May your next sucesses come far more easily after all the sweat you put into this! I can certainly relate on this particular day to a labor shockingly gone belly up w no warning, but feeling like better things are to come. I’ll be a forager chef ad wherever you go next. Just keep blogging and taking those fantastic pics! -Seattle
Thanks Jodie.
That was a VERY well-written requiem, Alan. And a good analysis of the situation, I think.
Thanks Buddy.
Thanks for sharing this process. I look in to a world I know nothing about, and I understand, through your words.
It is a bit of a different world, but loss is a bit trancendant, I think.
I hope your next Chefs position shows off your WILD talents, and is everything you hoped for. Maybe in the down time, you might consider writing a book.
Thanks John.
I’m sorry to read this, and even more sorry I didn’t make it to your restaurant. I’m sure it’s not much consolation but your lobster mushroom latkes made my night tonight. Take some time to refocus then keep kickin’ ass.
Glad you liked the lobster mushroom cakes, they’re so much fun. Thanks for you’re thoughts Amy.
Sorry to hear about this Alan… but I see you are due some best wishes in your new adventure at Lucia’s! That’s always been a great spot and I wish you nothing but the best there.
Also hope you continue to find great new ways to find food in your forager video series.
Take care…
Thanks John, and yes the cat’s out of the bag about Lucia’s. The video series we do as often as we can, but it can be difficult to coordinate a 3 man camera and video crew when they’re all working for free. We’re doing a new shoot this coming monday though, probably have it out in a month or two. Thanks again for your thoughts.
I remember your incredible cooking from the Slow Food foraged foods farm dinner at Piney Hill. Incredible, and your team was so gracious. Do you remember the names of the folks in the closing photo? I have some excellent photos of your team at the foraged foods dinner and am curious who the other folks in the photos are (and what they’re all up to now). Cheers.
Hi Cedar. People 1, 3, and 8, moving left to right in the last photo were all at the Slow Food dinner. Matt, the tall guy on the left is working at Urban Eatery as a sous chef, currently furloughed. Jeremy, (no3) was executive chef of The Happy Gnome until it closed, then was the Executive Chef at Billys on Grand, before it closed a couple weeks ago. I don’t know what Tre, the last guy is doing. Rough time for restaurants.